


i don't wanna get over you

by nbmothman



Series: the only true messiah rescues us from ourselves [6]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Marijuana, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-29
Updated: 2014-10-29
Packaged: 2018-02-23 01:41:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2529353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nbmothman/pseuds/nbmothman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete pines over Patrick and Patrick pines over Pete. Their coping methods are vastly different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i don't wanna get over you

**Author's Note:**

> finally got around to finishing this, school has been a giant pain in my ass lately. but it's done now and i really hope you guys enjoy!

“The thing is, Joe…”

“Just hear me out dude…”

“He’s just…”

“He’s so fucking…”

Patrick’s lying on the couch with his feet on Joe’s lap, head propped up with a pillow and an old quilt Joe’s grandma made that he couldn’t bear to throw away. It smelled like the weirdly distinct smell of old people and pot smoke, something Patrick never figured would be the two things to mix, but Joe constantly reminds him that his grandma was no ordinary grandma, ‘Like grandma like grandson, dude.’ Patrick still doesn’t believe him.

But that’s beside the point. Right now Patrick is not thinking about Joe toking it up with his dead grandma, he’s thinking about a certain stupid ass boy that he did _not_ have a fucking crush on, god damn it.

“He’s just so stupid! Like, he’s reckless and immature and thinks he’s such hot shit-”

“He’s a bad boy, is what you’re saying.” Joe said, slurping his ramen from a cup.

Patrick pulled his head up just enough to glare at him. “He’s not a bad boy. I mean, if you want to get _technical_ , he is a boy, and he’s… he’s worse than bad, he’s _awful_.”

“I mean, if that’s what you’re into, it’s kind of inevitable, right?” Joe lifted his eyebrows and quirked his lips before going back to his noodles.

“Yes, my dick has a mind of its own and I really don’t appreciate its choices. My dick has bad taste.” Patrick huffed and moved his glasses to rub his eyes.

“Well, your dick is one of your strongest organs. It goes your heart, your head, and then your dick. And you know how it goes, if your dick gets interested, then your head does, and if you’re not careful, your heart gets a mixed up in that shit too.” 

“Are you high?”

“Does it matter? That was fucking philosophical, dude. Do you have a pen?” Joe laughed, running his hand over his head and down to his ponytail.

“Joe, I’m trying to talk to you about my _boy problems_.” Patrick kicked his feet; just enough to get Joe’s attention back where it should be.

“I’m not a 15 year old girl! I don’t _do_ boy problems!” Joe threw this head back and sighed in mock exasperation, lifting his cup of noodles to shield them from Patrick’s kicks.

“Okay, well, what if they were girl problems? Would that make you feel better?”

“I mean, if this hypothetical girl you’re fawning over has a dick, tattoos, and a coke problem? I might be able to help you with that.” Joe smiled, crossing his ankles and slurping the remainder of his ramen.

Patrick shook his head in annoyance. “Seriously dude, what do I do?”

Joe cleared his throat and set his cup down on the coffee table. He clapped his hands together before leaning back against his couch and turning his attention to Patrick.

“You made out with him, right?”

“Well, yeah.” Patrick could feel his cheeks and ears flush with pink. “But we were both high, you know? You do stupid shit when you’re high.”

“Hell yeah dude, you were _toasted_.” Joe snorted, his head leaning back into the couch.

“And that means he must have been too, so I don’t know if he meant it or not? Like, he sleeps with a fuckton of people anyway, so why would I be any different?”

Joe crossed his arms and drummed his fingers against his bicep before meeting Patrick’s eyes. “Do you want to be any different?”

Patrick stalled. He’d never thought of that.

“I mean, I- I guess, like, I don’t know? To be honest, I used to really hate him. But now I’m kind of seeing that he’s really just a kid that never got the chance to grow up, you know? Like if you kicked a 12 year old out on his own, he’d be bound to get fucked up, right?”

Joe quirked his lips and raised his eyebrows. “I just kinda assumed he was a dick from day one.”

“Yeah, I did too.” Patrick sighed and sunk into the crease where the armrest met the couch. He wished he didn’t feel this way. A lot of the time he thought it would just be easier to hate Pete, but now he actually felt sorry for him. Patrick had seen a kind of vulnerable side of him that he’s sure Pete didn’t want him to see. He’s not sure whether or not to feel bad about it right now.

“You know that night I told you about, before the night we all got high? When he waltzed up to our apartment, drunk off his ass? He looked like a puppy, but like, a sad, kicked puppy. Even though it was two in the morning or something, I couldn’t just leave him hanging.”

“You’re too nice, that’s why.” Joe smiled one of his big stupid Joe smiles and gave Patrick’s leg a shake.

“Sometimes I wish wasn’t, maybe then people would take me seriously.” Patrick rolled his eyes, face creasing in distaste.

“Aw, it’s okay Patrick, I still love you. I’ll fight off all the bad boys who don’t take you seriously.”

“You better, asshole.”

“Anything for you, Patty.” Joe kissed the tips of his pointer and middle fingers and bopped Patrick on the nose.

Patrick scrunched up his nose and rubbed it on his sleeve, a grin finally forming behind his arm.

“God, Joe, now I have herpes.”

“If you’re fixing to get with Wentz, you’ll probably need to worry about a lot more than herpes.” Joe deadpanned, crossing his arms and giving Patrick a look that reminded him of his mom when he stayed out too late or came home smelling like smoke. But Joe was Joe, and Patrick could rarely take anything he said seriously.

“Don’t worry, I’m a big boy, I can buy condoms.”

“Good, I don’t want any little Wentz-Stump babies running around.”

All Patrick could do at this point was smile and shake his head.

-o-

Pete was having a panic attack.

He’d driven over to Andy’s because he was feeling antsy and sad and needed someone to vent to but then it had turned into shudders and shakes and scattered words and _Andy this can’t happen I’ll fuck it up I’ll fuck it up Ifuckeverythingup_.

Pete was lying on Andy’s couch with his head in Andy’s lap, clenching his eyes shut and scraping his foot against the armrest and trying to scratch at his arms and face but Andy wouldn’t let him. Andy had one hand on Pete’s arm and the other in his hair. He was used to this. He was there for Pete when no one else was, and that meant Andy had to be there for Pete a lot.

“Deep breaths, Pete, you’re okay. I know you don’t feel like it right now, but you’re safe here and nobody’s gonna hurt you. You didn’t fuck anything up, I promise.”

“But I _will_ , Andy, I _will_.” Pete choked, curling into himself, pressing his head against Andy’s stomach. Andy tried to cradle Pete’s head against him, no matter how awkward it probably looked. Their bandmates had walked in before while Andy was trying to calm Pete down and they had always taunted them for it. Sometimes Andy thinks Pete might have PTSD from some of those exchanges. They would always sneer at him and push him, and they would always laugh. Andy remembered hearing Pete trying to hold in his sobs a lot on tour. He remembers way too much of Pete crying. He doesn’t like that.

“Hey, hey, what exactly are you going to mess up so bad?” Andy asks, running his hand up and down Pete’s side.

Pete shook his head and wiped at his eyes. “It’s stupid.”

Andy sighed and raked his hand over the flannel jacket Pete had to cover his shaking frame.

“It must not be that stupid if you’re freaking out about it.” He offered a tentative smile and Pete let out a sharp huff, reminding Andy of grumpy kids when their parents told them to go to bed or do their homework. Pete was basically Andy’s kid brother at this point, but he really didn’t mind.

“I already started it out wrong. I _kissed_ him, Andy. And I wasn’t supposed to, it wasn’t a part of the plan but I did it. He was _high_. I totally took advantage of him and it was so shitty but I’m so fucking stupid and I didn’t fucking control myself and I _kissed_ him, Andy. _I kissed him_.” Pete stammered, gesturing his hands frantically against the cushions of the couch.

“Have you talked to him since then?” 

“I can’t, Andy, I’m _scared_. He’ll hate me, he’ll hate me, he’ll-” Andy could hear Pete starting to hyperventilate and tried to smooth his hands over Pete’s arms and back, brushing his hands through his hair. Pete would always try to paw at his face or his arms or his legs, any expanse of skin that was available to scratch or cut or bruise. Andy had seen when Pete was left alone, that’s why he was adamant about being there for Pete now. Pete’s tattoos hid the ones on his arms, but Andy knew what raked Pete’s back and legs and torso. To many people they were invisible, scars that had healed and faded with his tan skin, but Andy knew they were there.

“Hey, Pete, hey, can you look at me please?” Andy murmured as gently as he could and brought Pete’s head up to press against his forehead, hand holding the back of his head. 

“Breathe with me, okay? You’re gonna be okay, I promise.” He smiled, patting Pete’s shoulder lightly. Pete let his teeth release his shaking lip and nodded, attempting to choke out a breath. 

They just sat there for a while, not counting the minutes or hours or breaths. Eventually Pete started to breathe evenly, following Andy’s gentle inhales and exhales, letting his squeezed eyes relax and the tension that once suffocated him fade out like steam from a coffee cup.

Andy let one eye peek out to look at Pete and then and nudged his side with his hand. Pete opened his eyes lazily and blinked a few times, a sigh falling from his lips.

Andy smirked and ruffled Pete’s hair. “You wanna talk about it?”

Pete pushed himself up and turned around so his feet were on the floor. Joints and bones creaked and popped, and Pete sighed at the fact that he was pushing 30 and should start doing yoga or some shit. He wiped his tear stained cheeks with the sleeve of his sweater that he had since he graduated high school; and yes, he has to tell people all the time, he did graduate high school. Sometimes he wishes he never lived past it.

“He’s just… I don’t want to ruin him, Andy. I practically dry humped him when he was high and I really shouldn’t have, so I don’t know if that will scare him away and I really don’t want to? And like, I didn’t mean to kiss him, I didn’t. But I knew if I didn’t kiss him right then and there I never would, y’know?”

Pete rubbed his sweaty palms over his jeans and looked down at his worn Vans.

“No, I get it. I mean, you don’t have the best track record when it comes to relationships, but, if this guy’s important to you…” Andy tried to sympathize, but he knew if Pete actually wanted to pursue this guy and not just a one night stand or a weekend fling, that was definitely a significant improvement.

“He like, actually read my shit, my lyrics I wrote. And he didn’t laugh, he like, wanted to help and sang some of the lines and _god_ , Andy, his voice is so fucking awesome. Me? I can’t sing for shit, Tim was pretty good but I mean, he’s doing his own shit with Rise Against now, but this guy is so much different. He sounds really melodic without sounding like an uptight choirboy, but just punk enough to be edgy in like, a super-hot, adorable kind of way?”

Pete bit his smiling lip and turned his head from his twiddling fingers to finally face Andy.

Andy shook his head and wrapped his arm around Pete’s shoulders before he bumped their heads together. 

“I think you might _actually_ be in love.”

Pete dropped his head into his hands and laughed. “I’m fucked, dude.”

-o-

Pete couldn’t sleep.

This wasn’t anything new, to be honest, but he couldn’t stop thinking. He kept thinking about what Andy said before he left earlier that night. _You should talk to him, text him or something. Just get this shit sorted out so you’re not obsessing over it all the time._

He couldn’t call him. It was already too late and Pete didn’t want to make it a habit of waking Patrick up at odd hours of the night.

_He didn’t want to annoy him._

That was his number one goal. Don’t scare him off, don’t upset him, and don’t bother him, because if you do, he’ll leave. Pete had more than enough experience to know that that was true.

Pete had been idly fidgeting with his phone while he lay in bed. He’d been through his Instagram and Twitter feed at least five times and he’d tried to distract himself with YouTube or porn or Netflix but his brain was buzzing behind his eyes and ears and he just couldn’t focus.

There was always a solution for that, though. He rolled over to open the drawer on the bedside table and pulled out his little blue pipe, lighter, and a Ziploc baggie with a few ounces of weed he had left. His bright pink lighter always made him laugh, but at least he wouldn’t lose it. Pete loaded himself a good, packed bowl with urgent hands that were shaking from nerves and anticipation that he couldn’t wait to fucking calm down. 

It took a bowl or two before he could really feel his pulse slow and his head grow still. He felt the shakes fade away with each cloudy breath he took, his cheeks flushed and his eyes felt like they were the size of the moon peeking out from behind the dark curtains. The bright pink lighter and his swirly blue piece were placed back on the table and Pete stretched out like a cat along his mattress. He kicked off his socks and shucked his shirt off before settling back in bed.

He groped around for his phone before turning it back on, bright blue light assaulting his eyes before they could focus, and flicking through his contacts.

 _This is a bad idea._ He smiled so wide his eyes hurt and he giggled to himself unabashedly while he clicked on Patrick’s number.

-o-

Pete checked the message he sent as soon as he woke up the next morning.

_u wanna talk abt the other night? jus wanna clear some shit up if thats ok_

It wasn’t as bad as he expected, but now he had to play the waiting game.

He checked his phone before going to the gym and he ran and ran so his pent up frustration poured out of him like the sweat beading on his temples. The strain he forced on his muscles served as a good distraction and he felt his stress roll off his back and down his legs. He threw himself into doing squats and bench presses and lunges and military lifts and pushups and sit-ups and jumping jacks and curls and dead lifts and before he knows it he’d been there for 2 hours.

He checked his phone after.

Pete checked his phone waiting for lunch outside in the sun that burnt the back of his neck and shoulders and made the screen of his phone glint so it was harder to read. He scrunched up his nose and scrubbed a hand over his face, sighing. At this point it was more than annoyance, it was sitting around _waiting_. It’d only been a day but Pete thought that he’d been pretty clear about his intentions, which was pretty damn good considering he was high as dicks at the time, and Patrick could _not_ be busy enough to not check his phone at least once since then.

He checked his phone before he got into his car on the way home.

Maybe he slept in really late? Did he work late to pay off college debt or something? Was he _in_ college? Now that Pete thought about it, he didn’t even know how old this kid really was. He had to be around twenty. Admittedly, Patrick was a bit baby-faced, so Pete prayed to god that he would at _least_ be legal.

 _Cause if you’re not legal that means I can’t fuck the shit out of yoooou._ Pete thought in a singsong voice. He pouted and squirmed in the seat of his car. Would Patrick top? He looked like the type of guy who could go either way.

 _Pun intended._ Pete grinned.

Fucking Patrick would be awesome, though. Pete had experienced both before but he didn’t really have a preference. _As long as I get to see that adorable face all flushed and sweaty and moaning my name? Good enough for me._

Pete huffed out a breath when he flicked his phone on at a red light. Still nothing.

There were too many questions Pete had that _weren’t being answered_. Pete was never used to waiting and he hated when he had to. He wanted things now now _now_. And if what he wanted didn’t come fast enough, fuck it, he could get it quicker somewhere else.

This time wasn’t the case, unfortunately. He couldn’t text him again, that would seem too clingy, right? Pete really didn’t want to bother Patrick, but he _needed_ to know. His mom always told him that patience is a virtue but Pete figured he threw his virtue away a long ass time ago. Especially with the way he wanted to let his mouth wander all over Patrick. Maybe some areas more specifically, but as Pete knows from prior knowledge, he’s not particularly picky.

Pete checked his phone before he went to bed and almost shit his pants.

_sounds good to me. ur place or mine?_


End file.
